My bug told me that yesterday. He was earnest and being empathatic as I was expressing to him that I am sad he’s sick.
This cold started Tuesday and by Wednesday morning, New Year’s Eve Day, the fever started climbing. 103.6 before I put him into bed for the night. We’re now on day 4 of this terrible cold, Today, he was diagnosed with an ear infection. At least now his persistant high fever has a cause and will have an end. Ugh, I hate when my boy is sick.
The Hubster and I are demonstratively affectionate with our 3 year old. We have been since he was born. But the kid just doesn’t want to kiss or hug…unless it’s on his terms. He rarely snuggles or cuddles. We have huggle time before nap and nighttime bedtime, but it usually involves me laying on the bed and him jumping around or wiggling and so on. Occasionally he wants to lay on me; I have taught him to spoon, but those times are the exceptions. He’s no cuddlebug. Although he is cuddlicious.
We’ve become a bit crazy about it and if he ever deigns to bestow affection upon us without us pushing for it, we are somewhat shocked and quite thrilled. Of course, it’s probably easiest for me, the mama, to give smooshes without getting the hand, but I do often get shoved away.
It was fascinating, then, for us to see him interact with other family members on a recent trip we took to visit my parents. This kid is stingy and selective with his hugs and kisses and he WILL NOT give them under duress.
It’s not behavioral (as in some type of problem or fear). It’s mostly that he’s too busy playing and doing and experiencing. And, of course, when he’s sad, I can scoop him right up and mush. Until he’s ok and on to the next thing.
So it makes me wonder. Is being affectionate learned behavior or something that’s innate?
Hey, look out for the lalabus! What time does the lalabus come?
I think we should let children name things. My 19 month old says “lalabus” instead of bus, or autobus (which Hubster is trying to teach him, because it’s Czech). I love it, and it’s much more fun. Previously, I would see a bus and have no emotion. Everytime I see a lalabus now it makes me smile.
My 18 month old consistently maintains solid eye contact with anyone looking at him. His bright baby blues will meet your eyes unflinchingly while he smiles, investigates your expression or openly stares. If he’s feeling particularly shy, he’ll hide around my legs. Even then, he usually peeks out to sneak a glimpse from behind my knee.
I love this about him, but I thought this was a baby thing, seeing as how they don’t have shame or self confidence issues. I was thinking I wish more adults were like him. I do.
And then I read this article on BabyCenter, “How can I encourage my toddler to look people in the eye when speaking to them?,” and I realized not all babies do it. I was pretty surprised by the article.
When I see my boy stare head-on at someone, he looks fearless, confident. I know as he gets older, he’ll question these traits in himself, but I’m proud to know he’s starting with them. I don’t think there’s anything we’ve done to encourage this; it’s all him. I only hope we can encourage him to keep it up as he gets older and starts to question his own opinions and feelings. Eye contact is underrated.
Just more than a week ago, my little bug passed the year and a half mile marker. We’ve come so far, but he is still so little. Last weekend, when someone else was playing with him, he fell on a stone fireplace hearth and cut his head so badly that it required three levels of stitches. I didn’t even know that existed. And I literally feel like my heart can’t take it.
It was an accident. I get that. The logical side of me understands that accidents happen. But fuck logic. I don’t care. I can’t stop replaying the scene in my mind, visualizing his face, the seemingly black hole I saw on his face when I grabbed him and screamed for my husband. There are at least 4 things I should have done differently that would have avoided this accident. Simple things. Easy fucking things. And why didn’t I do them? I sure as hell don’t know. He was having a blast. I was comfortable. I’m not one of those “crazy” parents who’s worried about everything.
I think I want to become one of those parents. If it stops or at least lowers the chances of anything like this ever happening again, then I want to be one of those parents. Because this giant bandage and scar that will soon be in the middle of the forehead of this sweet little boy’s face is way, way, way too much for me to bear.
And I know it’s not nearly as bad as so many other things that could happen to him. I don’t care about that. I care about my reality, which is this, now, and I hate it.
The first songs I heard on the radio on the first day of the new year were: Everything little thing’s gonna be alright by Bob Marley, Patience by Guns ‘n Roses and Come as you are by Nirvana. Reminders are useful.
Or maybe the lesson is I should grow dreads like Bob, rock some serious braids like Axel or stop washing my hair like Kurt’s grunge look. Maybe it’s all about the hair. It so often is.
I have a lot more random or tangential or paranoid thoughts since having a baby. I recently stopped leaving my glasses by the bathroom sink overnight, opting instead to lay them on my nightstand in case I need to see to rescue my baby during the night. Quick access to the glasses may be key.
He’s snoring in our room, and it’s so cute. But jeez, keep it down, baby! I need to sleep, too!
Spinning him around makes him squeal with delight, but man, I get dizzy so quickly. Is that an age thing?
And I think how horrible that we let his 16-month birthday pass us right by with no notice, no fanfare. Forgot even. We start by counting hours, then days, weeks, months and then years. And any minute now, he’ll be 5.
Come as you are.
Every little thing’s gonna be alright.
Tonight, I searched online. Baby eats toilet paper. Because, apparently, he does. Not handfuls of it. But when the bathroom door is open, he just marches (yes, walking!!) himself right in, goes straight for the toilet paper roll, pulls off a smidge and starts munching.
He’s not so keen on magazine paper or notepads. He’s tasted them in his time, but these days, TP is his paper of choice.
The online answers I found ranged from the witty (because they like it) to the downright accusatory (it’s obviously OCD; get a psychological evaluation) and then back to the hysterical inducing (toilet paper has lead; get your baby to the doctor immediately!!)
Should I panic? Run to a psychologist? Get him a spoon? Aaah!
Perhaps the more important question to ask here is, why don’t people stop their babies from eating TP? At least I do that.